“Less than two hours ago, a police detective named Terrio told me Frank was dirty. He believes Frank was using his import business for something illegal.”
“Why was a cop talking about Frank?”
“Frank and his family were murdered.”
Stone was silent for a time, and when he spoke again, his voice was low.
“For real?”
“A robbery crew broke into their home two nights ago. Frank, his wife, their kids. They zero in on targets with a cash payoff-dope dealers, money launderers, like that. Frank wasn’t their first.”
“I’ll ask around, I guess. I can’t believe Frank went wrong, but I’ll ask.”
“Another thing. You have juice with Fugitive Section or Special Investigations?”
Now Stone grew wary.
“Why?”
“You know why, Jon. If Terrio’s task force has any suspects, Fugitive Section or SIS will be trying to find them. I want to know what they have.”
Fugitive Section detectives specialized in tracking down and apprehending wanted felons in high-risk situations. Special Investigation Section were elite operators who ran long-term, covert surveillance on criminals suspected of committing violent serial crime. With their expertise, skill, and experience, retired Fugitive Section and SIS operators commanded top dollar at private security firms, and Jon Stone had placed more than a few into fat corporate jobs.
Stone hesitated, and Pike listened to the N.W.A tracks behind him, back in the day before Ice Cube went legit.
“C’mon, Jon. You have ins with those guys.”
Stone cleared his throat, sounding uncomfortable.
“I might have a friend who has a friend. I’m just saying, is all.”
“I need this information before they make an arrest.”
Stone lapsed into another silence, and now seemed thoughtful when he spoke.
“I guess you would, then, Joseph.”
“Frank was one of my guys.”
“Listen, that business about Frank, I have an idea. Ask Lonny. Lonny might know.”
Lonny Tang. The man who had taken the picture in El Salvador. Thirteen days later, on a job in Kuwait, Frank Meyer would save Lonny Tang’s life on what would turn out to be Lonny’s last job.
Pike said, “Why would Lonny know?”
“Frank kept in touch with him. You didn’t know? He sent Lonny Christmas cards, stuff like that. I’ll bet you ten bucks his wife never knew.”
Pike didn’t respond because Pike hadn’t known, either. He hadn’t spoken with Lonny in years, and Frank even longer. Stone went on, finishing his idea.
“If Frank was mixed up in something, he’d tell Lonny if he was gonna tell anyone.”
“That’s a good idea, asking Lonny. I will.”
“You gotta set it up through his lawyer. You want the number?”
“I have it.”
“I’ll let you know about the other thing after I talk to my guys.”
“Thanks, Jon. How much do I owe you?”
Stone cranked up the N.W.A. Something about guns in Compton. Something about making a muthuhfucka pay.
“Forget it. Frank was one of my guys, too.”
Pike lowered the phone, thought over what he needed to do, then raised the phone again. Pike owned a small gun shop not far from his condo. He had five employees who were expecting him that afternoon.
“Gun shop. This is Sheila. May I help you?”
Sheila Lambert was a retired FBI agent who worked part-time at the store.
“Me. Everything good?”
“Yeah, we’re groovy. What’s up?”
“I won’t be in this afternoon. That okay?”
“Not a problem. You wanna speak with Ronnie?”
Ronnie managed Pike’s store.
“Just pass the word. If he needs me, I’m on the cell.”
“Roger that.”
Pike hung up, cleared two other appointments he had that afternoon, then called Lonny Tang’s attorney, a man named Carson Epp.
Pike said, “I need to speak with him. Can you set it up?”
“How soon?”
“Soon. It’s a family emergency.”
“May I tell him what this is about?”
Pike decided Lonny should hear about Frank from him, and not Epp or someone else. Lonny had been one of Pike’s guys, too.
“Frank the Tank.”
“Frank the Tank?”
“He’ll know. Let me give you my cell.”
Pike gave him his number, then lowered the phone, thinking he couldn’t wait for Stone to come up with something Terrio might or might not have developed. He wondered if Ana Markovic was still alive, and if she had managed to speak. Chen said she hadn’t, but Chen was only repeating what he had heard from the cops, and the cops would have left as soon as a doctor told them she was not going to wake up. Pike wanted to talk to the nurses. Even unconscious, she might have mumbled something after the cops were gone. A word or a name could give him an edge. Pike wanted the edge.
Pike changed into a pale blue dress shirt to make himself presentable, then bought a bouquet of daisies and drove to the hospital.
5
THE INTENSIVE CARE UNIT was on the sixth floor of the UCLA Medical Center. Pike stepped out of the elevator and followed signs to an octagonal command post at the end of a hall lined by glass-walled rooms. Curtains could be pulled for privacy, but most of the rooms were open so the staff could see the patients from the hall.
Pike walked the length of the hall checking for officers, but any officers who had been present were gone. He returned to the nurses’ station, and waited until a harried female nurse turned to him. Her name tag read BARBARA FARNHAM.
“May I help you?”
Pike and his dress shirt held out the flowers.
“Ana Markovic.”
The nurse’s expression softened when she saw the daisies.
“I’m sorry. Are you a relative?”
“I know the family.”
“We limit our visitors in ICU, only one person at a time, and then only for a few minutes. Her sister’s here now, but I’m sure she wouldn’t mind.”
Pike nodded.
“Room twelve, but you can’t leave the flowers. If a patient has an allergic reaction, it could weaken their immune system.”
Pike had expected this, and handed over the flowers. The nurse admired them as she placed them on the counter.
“Pretty. I like daisies. You can pick them up when you leave or we can send them to another part of the hospital. We usually send them to Maternity.”
“Before I see her, I’d like to speak with her primary nurse. Is that possible?”
“Well, that’s all of us, really. We work as a team.”
“The police told me she wasn’t able to make a statement when they found her. I was wondering if she came around after surgery.”
“No, I’m sorry, she hasn’t.”
“I don’t mean a conversation. Maybe she mumbled a name. Said something that might help the police.”
The nurse looked sympathetic.
“You’ll understand when you see her. She’s unconscious and completely uncommunicative.”
“Would you ask the other nurses?”
“I’ll ask, but I’m sure she hasn’t spoken.”
A light mounted outside a nearby door came on, drawing the nurse’s attention.
“Room twelve. Only for a few minutes, all right?”
The nurse hurried away, so Pike went down the hall to room twelve. Like the other rooms, the door was open and the drape pulled back so the nurses could see the patient. Pike expected to find the sister, but room twelve was empty except for the bandaged figure in the bed.
Pike hesitated at the door, wondering how far he should take this, then went to the bed. The left side of Ana’s face and head were hidden beneath heavy bandages, but the right half of her face was visible. She seemed to be trying to open her eye. Her eyelid would lift, the eye beneath would drift and roll, then the eyelid would close.
Pike knew she had not spoken as soon as he saw her, and thought it unlikely she would regain consciousness. The shape of the bandage on her head suggested a bullet had entered beneath her left eye, angling away from the midline. The way the visible part of her face was swollen and discolored suggested bone fragments from the maxilla had exploded into her sinuses, mouth, and eye like shrapnel. The pain would have been excruciating. Pike lifted the sheet enough to see the incisions taped across her chest and abdomen, which were still orange from the Betadine solution used to clean the area. He lowered the sheet, and tucked it beneath her. The upper chest wound had done the most damage. The bullet had likely deflected off her ribs or clavicle, and punched down through the diaphragm into her abdomen. Between the time she was shot and the time she was wheeled into surgery, her left lung had collapsed, the chest cavity had filled with blood, and the blood had drained through the diaphragm into her abdomen. As she lost blood, her blood pressure dropped until it was so low her organs began shutting down, like a car engine without enough oil. A car engine without oil will run, but the engine will damage itself. Let it run long enough, you can replenish the oil all you want, but the damage will have been done, and the engine will die. Ana Markovic had bled out internally, and now she was dying.